Monday, 26 August 2013
FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! #46
A tall, dark and handsome nineteenth century spy who is completely loyal to the Empire and one-time icicle.
Logan’s mutations give him an unparalleled regenerative and healing ability that have effectively rendered him both immortal and invulnerable. As some people get all the luck in life he also has super-cool bone claws that extend and retract from his knuckles (much like paper smothering rock, coolness utterly extinguishes/encompasses the whole 'pain' aspect). His entire skeleton, along with the claws, were then plated with the metal Adamantium to make him physically stronger than diamond.
Also diamonds can't throw themselves at you while snarling.
Adamant is but a mere human and the only weapon which he can relied upon to bring to battle is his trusty sword stick. Such a weapon allows a gentleman to both cut a dash and keep a level of deadly surprise. However it is Adam Adamant’s impeccable heritage and training that have created a gentleman with steely Victorian determination married to ultimate refinement. Embodied in his surname, Adamant is bred to be mentally stronger than diamond.
Metaphorically, obviously. Diamonds are idiots.
Wolverine is tough and mean; a true lone wolf adrift from the rest of the world, doling out an assertive form of natural justice. Also Logan is shoe-horned into pretty much anything that Marvel is making. This means that in theory he can call on many of the Marvel-verse’s big hitters across various X-Men and Avengers titles, though in practice Wolverine does have a habit of winding people up. This includes hitting on Cyclops’ wife or attacking Captain America or hitting on Captain Cyclops (which is his favourite euphemism for man-shanking). We’ll assume that Wolverine can call on loads of characters to have his back, but they’ll all pretend they left their phones on silent.
Adamant has two trusty sidekicks in the forms of Miss Jones and the butler Simms. Neither seem to be as well versed in combat as the swash-buckling Edwardian and frequently end up needing to be saved. Otherwise Adam Adamant’s dashing demeanour and impeccable manners will often endear him (in the most well-intentioned of manners of course) to many a lady. However these nearly always turn out to betray him. Either way Adamant wouldn’t ever seek to impose himself with a request for help. It's not his way.
On top of a fantastical castle the two combatants confront each other. Who knows what bought the two of them here but now they are locked in a final fight to the bitter end.
Standing before the castle’s crenelations is the short but unfeasibly developed frame of James Logan. The Wolverine. Every sinew is taught, every muscle learned with aggressive anticipation. His attitude seemingly darkens the very air around him as though camouflaging him against the dark sky. Yet anger and the yellow of his spandex radiate from him like a beacon.
The other side of the tower roof is the smooth proportioned presence of Adam Adamant. The wind whips up his cape, yet his hair, stance and upper lip remain set in unbreakable fashion.
Logan sets off at a run towards the Englishman, his animal sense instinctively analysing the foppish aspect of the unflinching man in-front of him. The stillness just isn’t natural, his foe seems refined almost to the point of being artificial. With that the Wolverine feels cold adamantium surge through his arms and out beyond his knuckles and he dives at his adversary.
Adamant’s frown sets into a diamond edged furrow. In front of him seems to be a fellow from the Colonies full of the raw emotion that has come to be expected of Americans. The unbridled aggression and revealing clothing of his opponent indicates an almost animalistic quality in the man. The man gets closer, dives and seemingly from nowhere produces an array of shining blades.
With a deft side-step Adam elegant sidesteps the raging animal of the Wolverine, as a Matador would avoid a charging bull. Logan wheels and lashes out with a claw almost instinctively. Although swinging well wide the metal slices effortlessly through the stone of nearby crenelation.
Having patiently awaited his opening, Adamant seizes his chance. The clawed creature before him has left himself vulnerable to his own secret steel. In a flash Adamant flicks out his blade from the concealment of his cane and lunges forward. The sword stick plunges between two ribs, running him through, piercing the heart.
Anger flashes through the eyes of the agonised animal and blood begins to bubble at the back of its throat. Although odd that this man is not already dead Adamant wastes no time in ensuring his speedy delivery from such a mortal wound. With a powerful drive forward he pushes Logan through the decapitated crenulation, the heavy weight of the Wolverine sliding smoothly off of the sword and into the void below.
With no flicker of emotion, other than maybe a shadow of compassion for the merciful end to such a wild animal of a man, Adamant turns and begins to walk away. But no sooner has he taken a step than the sound of singing steel makes him stop and turn. Impossibly the animal man is not only alive but is now atop the castle wall, hauling himself into position with claws embedded into the stone.
Wasting no time Logan again launches himself at the man, claws bared. The Englishman raises his blade as though to impale the Wolverine through the chest, but bringing down a claw Logan shears through the sword. At close quarters, with no weapon Logan sees the man as defenceless. Raising both claws above his head he readies himself to bring them down and finish this fight.
“Substitute. Swordstick for molten adamantium katana.”
Swinging the white hot metal in a graceful arc Adam counters. James feels the soft metal of the katana somehow cleaving through the metal of his own claws. Screaming in pain he brings his hands down in front of him looking at the gently smoking stubs that remain of his blades.
With hair and demeanour as unruffled at this, the end of the fight, as at the beginning Adamant gracefully doubles back the path of the glowing metal. About to part the man’s head from his body…
“Substitute. James Logan for Squirtle…”
…The blade misses its mark by a good foot. The blue turtle pops its head back out of the top of its shell and unleashes a blast of high pressure water from the back of its throat at the white hot sword. The water and sword erupt in a cloud of steam and with a loud crack the katana snaps from the rapid cooling.
“Substitute: True selves for Adam Adamant and Squirtle.”
Two middle-aged middle-class white men appear, one fusty, sideburned and armed with a quill; the other holding an I-pad, bug-eyed, and armed with a quiff.
“Oh come on, that was pretty desperate, you just can’t stand losing.”
“You started it, with substituting in that flaming katana.”
“Look, I’d already thrown your character off the side of the castle.”
“I’m the Master of the Land of Fan-Fiction I always give preferential treatment to my favourite characters.”
“And I’m Master of the Land of Fiction I care not for fan favourites.”
They eyeball each other, until the Master of the Land of Fiction blinks.
“Balderdash” he says, “I’ve just realised, by using those substitutions we’ve got ourselves involved directly in the narrative.”
“You mean we’ve fictionalised ourselves? You don’t think… she would take advantage of that?”
“No, I’m sure she... She… You know I’ve always admired you. From afar.”
After so long fighting each other the Master of the Land of Fiction and the Master of the Land of Fan Fiction realised that they were in a place where they could finally give into their desires. Deep, hidden, shameful desires that for so long had led them to fight.
Gazing into each other’s eyes and gently cupping their faces they moved closer until their lips began to touch…